


Let me help with that, Your Majesty

by Dans-le-Vif (Criz)



Category: French History - Fandom
Genre: M/M, plot is a four-letter word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criz/pseuds/Dans-le-Vif
Summary: Toiras helps King Louis with some ~stress-relief~thanks to all the people who participated in the shenanigans that lead to this  ;)
Relationships: Louis XIII/Toiras
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Toiras had slept on a cot in the King's tent next to his bed. There had been some commotion at camp when one of Cardinal Richelieu's messengers arrived, bearing urgent warnings about rumours of an attempt on the King's life.

And still Louis had refused to let anyone else sleep in his tent. Doubling the guards outside his tent and increasing the guards throughout the camp was enough in his eyes. In the end he at least allowed Toiras inside.

The tall man wasn't used to wearing a chemise at night, usually preferring to wear nothing except his pants to cover himself. He had felt contained, but had complied to the King's wishes. Rolling his shoulders to let the shirt settle over his massive frame, he had already felt the heat building up, but he wouldn't let his King down. What was a small inconvenience compared to the King's safety after all.

\-----

The next morning Toiras woke up and tried to stretch before remembering that he was laying on a small cot. Sitting up on its edge he glanced over to the King who sat in a similar fashion on his bed, and he noticed how Louis kept shifting his legs uncomfortably.

Jean gave a soft chuckle. "L-let me help with t-that, Your M-Majesty."

Louis open his mouth to protest, but Toiras towered already before him, gently shoving the smaller man further onto the bed without effort. He knelt and brought his hands under the King's chemise. As he started to undo the fastenings of the pants, Toiras occasionally rubbed softly with his rough thumbs against the straining flesh. 

Louis tried to suppress any reactions, but his legs twitched and a gasp escaped his lips.

"H-has no one p-performed this s-service for you b-before, Y-Your M-Majesty?", he asked as he tugged the pants off of the King's legs.

Louis closed his eyes, clenching them shut in response, a tiny shake of his head.

Briefly sitting up a bit on his legs, Jean pressed his broad left hand against the King's sternum. Not too much pressure, just enough to get the Royal into the position he wanted him to be, laying down on his back.

Pushing the chemise up far enough to gain access, Toiras lowered his head and softly let his tongue and lips caress the tip, slowly moving downwards a bit to give Louis time to get used to the feeling.

It didn't take long and Jean noticed the difference of the gasps and whimpers that he elicited from the King, at first suppressed then muffled. Apparently Louis didn't trust his ability to keep them back and covered his mouth. 

Who would even care? What happens at camp, stays at camp. 

A little stress relief to ensure their concentration on the battlefield later, show me one soldier who hasn't given or received ...

'Poor Louis, to have gone so long without --', Jean mused. But he was interrupted as the man below him, thrust upwards.

He freed his mouth, "C-calm yours-self, Your M-Majesty.", a blend of advice and order, as far as one could order a King.

Then he shifted his body, bringing one arm to rest on the King's thigh and moving his other arm across the torso. As before Toiras wouldn't need to apply much pressure, allowing his weight to serve as reminder for Louis to stay down.

Satisfied, he continued where he had left off. 

His lips closed over the tip again, but he moved down faster this time. Swallowing as much as he could, Jean fell back on time-proven motions. Louis wasn't the first and he won't be the last to be served this way.

Creasing the chemise, the hand on the torso moved across the King's chest until Toiras found the small hard nipple underneath the cloth. He gave it some rubs with his thick thumb, occasionally switching to squeezing it between his fingers.

His other hand crawled up towards the loin, brushing across the well-defined thigh. He let his thumb rub against the royal balls on that side, but resisted the urge to move his fingers between the cheeks. 

Best not to go there on the first time.

As he noticed the tell-tale signs, he eased up a bit on what he was doing with his hands, putting more effort into keeping Louis in place, exerting some mild force on the chest and leg.

He let Louis empty himself and swallowed before releasing the flagging King from his mouth.

"S-steady, Your M-Majesty," he adviced, his hand resting casually on the King's chest to help calm down the breathing.

As the heaving of the chest subsided and the breaths grew softer again, Louis began to doze off on the bed.

Toiras smiled underneath his beard and tugged on the chemise to cover the King again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis point of view

Louis lay in his bed in the royal tent in the middle of the war camp. He hadn't gotten much sleep during the night and it had nothing to do with Richelieu's messenger and the news that there might be an attempt on his life the evening before.

It had only to do with Toiras. The tall man slept on a cot next to his bed, softly snoring, the blanket kicked away almost entirely and even in his sleep he kept tugging on his chemise every once in a while. He really didn't want to wear it, but it was non-negationable, Louis had his reasons.

Yesterday, Tréville and the Maréchals in attendance had suggested that there should be guards in his tent for additional protection.

Louis had refused. There were few moments where he claimed privacy for himself, bathing and sleeping were among them.

They had insisted.

The King had refused. And that was that.

But he had acknowledged their concern and allowed one person to remain in the tent with him for the night after all.

\-----

Louis lay in bed, his hands on his chest, fingers intertwined, lest they wander where they shouldn't. Not while the Maréchal was still here with him. He had woken multiple times during the night when his dreams had mingled with memories. But not just any memories.

All he had wanted the other day was a quiet stroll to clear his mind, the small grove near the camp seemed perfect and while he would be accompanied by Musketeers and not truly alone, at least the surroundings might help him relax. Far from it. They stumbled onto Toiras and a groupd of soldiers who had gone to the grove to cool down and wash themselves in the pond.

The memory of Toiras haunted him every since. There were reasons why he was considered the peak of beauty of the time. Broad shoulders, strong arms, wide chest, thick thighs and to top it off black curly hair and a voice befitting his stature. Nature truly went all out on her gifts to him.

And wearing only a pair of linen pants did not detract from that. On the contrary, they had been soaking wet and stuck to his skin, accentuating his physique.

Considering their respective heights it was hard for Louis not to stare at the broad, muscular chest. The wet curly hairs forming an irrgular pattern in black with the faintest hints of grey here and there.

'Must everything about this man be magnificent?' Louis had wondered.

He pretended to survey the area in an attempt to look anywhere else than the man in front of him, but as he was looking around he had caught a glimpse of the wet cloth wrapped around the Maréchal's baton.

'_Everything_ indeed.'

Whether it had been that day out in the grove or early in the morning in the tent, unbidden questions entered the young Bourbon's thoughts.

What would it feel like? To hold it in his hands?  
To grab it? The weight? It's heft?

'LOUIS!', he heard his name inside his mind, yelled at him in the shrieking voice of his mother. And for once he was glad to be interrupted like this before his mind wandered too far into areas where it shouldn't tread.

Louis blinked and sighed, there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He sat on the edge on the foot of the bed, trying to figure out what to do next. He tried and failed to find a more comfortable position, shifting one way or the other.

Something had to be done. Time to wake Toiras and sent him out of the tent for some privacy, even if it was painfully obvious what was going on. But Louis didn't get that far.

The Maréchal gave a soft chuckle. "L-let me help with t-that, Your M-Majesty."

The King hadn't notice Toiras waking up and while he was still composing himself to protest, Toiras already stood in front of him and moved him back onto the bed.

Louis wanted to protest. One did not touch a King like this! One most certainly did not handle a King like this, like a child! He wanted to protest, he _had_ to protest. This was against protocol, this was against everything.

But enraged as he was, he knew that any protest would come out with a stutter. And worse, the young Bourbon knew Toiras would understand. This gentle giant had the same affliction, if anyone could understand it was him. There was no ill will on the Maréchal's part, Louis knew that, too. He only wanted to help.

'Very well,' he thought, 'I'll let you help.'

By then Toiras' hands had already found their way under the King's chemise to undo the fastenings of the pants. It was one thing to be dressed by a valet or examined by a doctor when he was sick, this wasn't the performance of a task, this was ... something else.

Try as he might to keep tight control over all his reactions, a gasp or a twitch still got through when rough fingers brushed against him.

"H-has no one p-performed this s-service for you b-before, Y-Your M-Majesty?", the Maréchal asked as he tugged on the pants and pulled them off of the King's legs.

'Why do you ask?', Louis thought. 'Is it so obvious?'

And so many more questions and speculations coursed through his mind, but all he managed to do was close his eyes and shake his head a little.

His eyes shot open when he felt the broad hand on his chest, moving him with gentle but insisting pressure down, until his back and head rested on the bed.

The voice at the back of his mind rose once more: 'This is now way to treat your King!'.

But this wasn't like the times of his youth, when others would rule in his stead and when they would rule over him. Louis trusted Toiras to know what to do. He clearly had done this before, best to allow him to take the reigns. For now anyway.

And he was curious. Louis recalled the casual touch of the rough skinned thumbs against himself. A gentle promise of the things to come. He imagined what it must feel like to have Toiras' hand hold him, stroke him. Those big hands, callused from holding weapons all his life.

Would it be rough against his skin? Would it be gentOH SWEET VIRGIN MARY MOTHER OF GOD!!!

His body froze, every muscle taut, his fingers digging into the bed sheets.

'Have mercy on my soul,' Louis thought as he tried to breathe again. 'Those aren't his hands!'

He lifted his head a little and watched for a moment as Toiras let his tongue slide over the tip before closing his lips and moving downwards a little.

Resigned, Louis let his head fall back onto the sheets. This had no right to feel so good. Why would anyone want to forbid it and call it a sin? Or was that precisely why? He bit his lip as Toiras took more of him into his mouth.

His face was burning and he brought his hands up to hide it, and to cover his mouth for fear the sounds he made would alert the entire camp.

He couldn't endure this any longer, but he longed for more. His hips gave an involuntary thrust and the Maréchal ceased what he was doing. The King was about to order him to continue when he realized that the tall man merely changed his position.

"C-calm yours-self, Your M-Majesty."

One arm rested now on Louis' thigh and the other over his chest. The weight of Toiras kept the King in place, but if need be he could also apply some pressure to hold him down.

It was a strange dynamic, knowing he could order Toiras to do his bidding, but allowing him to stay in control instead. The reassuring order had worked, Louis had calmed down and he gave himself to the tall man's caresses once more.

'Lord, forgive me,' he thought as Toiras took him in his mouth again, 'it feels too good.'

Damnation be damned, he was going to enjoy this. He wante to remember every little detail because he knew soon enough it would be over. And with any luck he could recall the feeling when he had to visit the Queen's chambers again.

'NonoNO!' He fought the thoughts of her. For today, for now, he only wanted to think of Toiras and what he let him do to him. Though soon enough he lost track.

The heat of a mouth surrounding him, the arm on his thigh and the hand that moved its way between his legs, the arm on his chest, fingers on his nipple. His mind was swimming. Louis felt himself rushing towards climax and wanted to warn Toiras.

But the tall man already adjusted his attention. Of course he did, he knew what he was doing. Once more Louis was reminded of it. The Maréchal would take care of things, and he could let go.

He knew he had come, but he barely registered anything afterwards.

"S-steady, Your M-Majesty." Louis heard it, but it sounded as if it came from far away.

He felt something on his chest, probably Toiras' hand again. It was heavy enough. The young Bourbon relaxed and sank back into sleep, for a little while at least.


End file.
